


The Oathbreaker's Tomb

by Baitnate



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dungeon, Gothic, Halloween, castle - Freeform, ghost - Freeform, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baitnate/pseuds/Baitnate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old Halloween short story from 2012. A cursed nobleman is tormented by the ghost of the woman he killed, as the darkness closes in around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Oathbreaker's Tomb

"When I looked for good, then evil came upon me: and when I waited for light, there came darkness.  
My bowels boiled, and rested not: The days of affliction prevented me.  
I went mourning without the sun: I stood up, and I cried in the congregation.  
I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls.  
My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat.  
My harp is tuned to mourning, and my organ into the voice of them that weep."  
-Job 30: 26-31

 

"GGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!"  
"OATHBREAKER!" She screamed. "OATHBREAKERS DIE!"  
Blood burst forth from the various holes on his body, oozing out of his physical orifices with her ethereal fingers grasping his cold dead heart. His clothes had been soaked with the red liquid life many times over; this was not the first time she had exsanguinated the precious thickened liquid from his veins. Bloody tears dripped down his face, and from out of his nose, and he tried to keep himself from losing the stuff that fed his hunger. OH, that hunger was blazing now. He had a pulse no longer, but the blood.... it …. SANG to him, calling on him to feed! Yet he could not, being chained in this darkened hole, his cell closest to Hell deep beneath the castle where he was once THE LORD!  
"OATHBREAKER!" She shrieked shrilling, her bright blue eyes now widened beyond what was the norm for mortal kin; she was a spirit now, and she haunted him, trying to drive out of him the blood he so rapaciously sucked from her!! "OATHBREAKERS DIE!!!!"  
"BEGONE!" He screamed back, and this time his reserve of will drew her away. She protested, but was dispersed into mist with a hollow gasp. But she would be back. She always came back.

***

Valanthe Surtova rose from her knees, a scowl on her face. The beastly howling from the deep crypt had, once again, ruined her morning prayers to The Lord. She tried to calm herself, but her lips tightened, and her cheeks were flush with rage. The howling of that bestial man reminded her of the sister she had lost, and the man who's oath denied her revenge.  
She loved her husband, the young and dashing and honorable Duke Stavian Surtova, Third of his Name. But she was a practical woman of politics, not one to be bound by oaths sworn decades ago. She strode out of the chapel, alone as usual in the early morning glow of the sunrise. The servants likened her to a swan; graceful, regal and majestic, and able to snap a man's neck if she so wished. But Valanthe was gentle and not one for murder. Were she a more debased woman, she would wield the branding iron on Stavian's brother herself.  
It was him down in the dungeon, Henric Surtova, the Fourth of his Name. It was he who made some sort of deal with the Devil out on the battlefield to the east against the invading Kellids. And it was he who took the blood of Valeria, her beloved sister.... on her wedding night to Stavian, no less! It was time to finish the task. She was bound to Stavian by honor, keeping the alliance between the House of Surtova and the House of Artreda strong. But she was NOT bound by honor to keep hearing the howls of her sister's killer.

***

Henric crawled on the filthy floor, seeking the remains of his blood. He lapped up the filthy muck, swallowing it all, blood and offal and sticky mud and wet straw and decayed bones and flesh. Oh he needed a drop! Just a drop of the sweet precious stuff.... the blood was singing and calling for him to feed, and the hollow pain in his stomach was like starvation of a mortal man tenfold. He almost felt as if his body was eating itself; he felt a rift in his stomach and chest, as if they were hollow, and his body seemed to squeeze itself against his veins. Whatever masculine beauty he once possessed seemed a pale imitation of what he once was. He had scruff on his face and his messy hair always flattened by a helmet. He seemed thinner and sickly. And Valeria appeared again, sitting off to his side, several feet away, giggling so wickedly at his dilemma. She had a perverse sexual lust in her eyes, enjoying his agony. She was moaning and sighing "yes...." baring her teeth in a maniac's smile, eyes unblinking.

***

"My Lady! My Lady!" One of the maids ran up to Valanthe as she began to ascend the stairs of the donjon. "Forgive my shouting, Madam Duchess, but the masons have arrived at the gate." The lady was winded, being older than most yet still able to run on her callused feet.  
"Ah, very good!" Valanthe smiled, quite pleased with this tidbit of news! "Thank you greatly... Prudence?"  
"Pardon me, my lady. I'm her sister Temperance." The older woman chuckled respectfully.  
"Terribly sorry, Temperance." Lady Valanthe grew slightly embarrassed. It would probably take her forever to learn the servant's names. One could hardly blame her; Prudence and Temperance were identical twins, and she was hopelessly new to her husband's holdings; she stood little chance of a successful identification. "You are dismissed."  
"Is there anything I may do for you, my Lady?" Temperance asked, regardless.  
"Nay, I must tell Lord Stavian the news. But thank you greatly. Now leave me, please." And she ascended the spiral steps alone, past the feasting hall and into their bedchamber, a spacious room poorly heated, despite the massive hearth. She always thought it was deliberate, so that she and Stavian would be forced to be close under their blankets. Not that she minded, for she did love Stavian, and had swallowed bitterly the choice of her own father to marry her sister Valeria to him instead.  
She paused when she had these thoughts, wondering if her wishful desire to be with Stavian had killed her sister....  
Stavian was glancing out the window, seeing the caravan of masons before him. He turned when the heavy door was opened by his wife, swinging slowly by it's ancient iron hinges. She was beautiful, a different shade than her sister. Whereas Valeria was sweet and mostly naïve, Valanthe was worldly and practical. Seeming ages ago, Henric himself had commented that the two sisters of the House of Artreda were "The Flower and the Fire." And it was a fitting moniker for Valanthe as the fire.... Their gazes met. Stavian had not slept well in the last couple nights, and it showed under his eyes. Yet, he was still quite handsome, even if he looked like a tired, unshaven lout of a lord.  
"They're here." Valanthe said plainly.  
"That I noticed." Stavian smiled at her, but it was a sad smile.  
"This is the only way, dearest husband." Valanthe reassured him. "I will not consummate our union with that monster merely chained up in the crypt." She was very firm on this. "I do love you, Stavian, and want to give you a lot of children. Believe me, I do. But not with the danger we face."  
"Please stop calling him a monster. He's my brother." Stavian sighed.  
"He murdered your first wife and my only sister. He's your brother no longer, Stavian. He's a blood-drinking leech."  
"Please be silent." Stavian protest, in pain with his voice cracking around the edges. Valanthe was unfazed. She was cold as a old embattled sword, and just as sharp. She only narrowed her eyes at him.  
"Finish the task. Bury him." She curtsied noble-like before leaving the chamber. Stavian sighed once more.

***

"GGGGGAAAAHHHH!!! WRETCHED BITCH!!!"  
"Oathbreaker! Oathbreakers die!"  
"Leave me, harlot!" Henric screamed. He was dry-heaving out all of his pores, for he had no blood left within his system. He was so cold now, so numb, and his vision was so blurred. He could see much better in the dark shadows of the pit he had been stuffed into, being a man of the night, but even then his senses were swiftly failing. He did not sleep; he could not sleep, the calling of his blood to feed prevented any coherent thought.  
"OATHBREAKER!" Valeria mocked. The vampire thrashed at her, his claws raking the air and his snarls of bestial fury echoing across the stones! He thrashed and swung, heedless to the fact that he could not do anything to the ghost, who was laughing and giggling and cackling at the sorry sight before her very cold dead eyes!  
"Oathbreakers die!" She cackled insanely.

***

The masons had brought with them just about everything. In addition to their tools galore, they brought enough stone to seal up not just the entrance to the pit where Henric lay in chains, but more stone slabs to seal up the hallway leading into the crypt-like prison beneath the castle.  
Armed with torches, Lord Stavian and Lady Valanthe were escorted by a retinue of servants into the lower levels, the masons following close behind. They wore black, on the orders of the Lord, for this was, for all intents and purposes, a funeral. Stavian looked greatly distraught, his face unable to conceal the agony of this task. Which is why Valanthe held his shoulder and arm, trying to imbue him with her strength. She was determined to see this through; the beast that killed her sister would indeed suffer forever, starving in the darkness alone for all eternity. She rather enjoyed the poetry of this sort of justice, and could barely conceal the grin on her face.  
They arrived at the pit, which was a cell where the House of Surtova had thrown many criminals over the years, letting them starve to death in the dark isolation. The pit was a hollow sphere, of stone carved into the ground, massive and spacious; the crowd of a play could stand within and still have room to wiggle about. In the center, chained to the foundation by his wrists and neck, heavy chains trailing, was Lord Henric. He glanced up, the torchlight catching his gaze as it dimly peered through the metal grate at the very top of the pit.  
"Good evening, brother." Stavian choked, trying to be formal.  
"USURPER!" Henric spat- although no flecks of spittle flew from his dry, bloodless husk. "You chain me here and leave me to waste away! You are a cruel heartless wretch!"  
"You are still my brother. I will not commit murder upon you, dearest Henric."  
"Lies! Lies! Lies!" Henric bellowed furiously. "The temptress you married! She put you up to this, didn't she? Listen to her not, she's poisoned your mind, brother!"  
"Silence!" Valanthe commanded. "Speak none of that slander onto me, you abomination!"  
"Enough!" Stavian commanded them both, a wave of his arm telling Valanthe to back away. She did, reluctantly, and her husband turned his gaze back down to the deep dark abyss. "Henric, dearest brother. Know that I do love you, as a knight loves a knight, and a brother loves a brother. I cannot forsake my oath I swore to you. Though my wife, whom I love dearly, would have you drawn, quartered and burning to ashes while this is occurring..."  
Valanthe smiled. For yes, she thought it was a fitting punishment.  
"...I will not spill your blood, brother." Stavian declared.  
"Ha!" The vampire bellowed from below. "You would leave me here to starve instead! For all eternity! Do you know the pain and pangs of hunger? The endless urge to drink that I am suffering! You are not a mortal, but a Devil in the flesh!"  
"Be silent!" Stavian barked. "You have conspired with dark powers, Henric. You have forsaken your oath to ME, by slaying my wife. But worst of all, you have forsaken your oath to The Lord God Almighty, by partaking of her sacred blood and feasting on it, like you would a wild doe! Unto this, Henric, what say you?"  
"Oh Stavian, my one regret was letting you live, so that you may steal my crown and birthright! I am the eldest! I am the true heir! You are a thief and may God destroy you in plague and fire!"  
"I doubt The Lord will heed your words, brother. He doesn't not listen to Oathbreakers." Stavian sighed heavily. "Oathbreakers die by the sword. You know this."  
"I am beyond death, dearest BROTHER. When I finally am free of this place, it will be a terrible vengeance, I promise you." Henric flashed his fangs, causing Stavian to flinch. He had been denying himself all along, but to actually see the monster in it's horrid reality.... it was an unsettling revelation. Stavian instead turned to the masons.  
"Seal the grate. And then seal the blasted tunnel." His tone was finally cold as ice, but he was holding on by a thread. "Do so with utmost haste, Guildmaster." He ordered the head mason.  
"Aye, my lord." The man nodded. "Our stones will leave this demon in the dark forever, I swear it."  
"See to it, for I must depart." Stavian strode quickly, ahead of his torch-bearing servants and his wife. He did not want them to see the tears beginning to form in his eyes; it was un-lordly, but he could not help himself. Valanthe made haste, the justice she craved.... it seemed hollow. She could not help but feel like she had hurt a man of honor more than harmed a demon. Yet it could not be helped.  
The masons laid down another framework of iron over the grate leading down into the bowl-shaped pit. Slowly, with each passing stone, the dark grew and grew; drips of cold mortar fell into the chamber, and Henric howled loudly, trying to chase off the men! Oh they smelled heavenly, and the sound of their pulsing veins in his enhanced hearing was TORTURE! He struggled and thrashed, trying to destroy his chains, but he had no strength left. Curse Valeria! Curse the damned harlot ghost! He moaned and bellowed and groaned, madness beginning to strike his already starving psyche. Blood! Blood! Blood! It was all he wanted! A drop! A dribble! ANYTHING TO SLAKE THE THIRST AND STOP THE UNHOLY SONG OF THE BLOOD!  
But then the last stone fell into place. Henric would only go slack in the jaw as a tiny drop of cold wet mortar fell upon his lower lip, slowly making it's way down his chin. It was a mockery of the nectar he craved; cold, lifeless and quickly becoming stiff and as lifeless as he. He was in the center of the chamber, totally encased in darkness. All he saw was shadows. All he heard was the dark chanting song in his blood; a mockery replacing his pulse. He tasted only dust and rock, he could smell only dried blood and corpses. He felt.... not a thing. Not a thing at all. Only the cold numbness of the void. Even the steel around his wrists and neck felt as if there were nothing there.  
He was in Hell. A dark, stygian Hell with no escape. And his only companion was an insane specter; the woman he killed and drank dry. And she sank her ephemeral fingers into his chest, the hellish chill forcing what little molecules of blood out of his system. He wailed! He howled! He screamed! He cried! He sobbed! He begged! He called out to the God he did not believe in! But none was around to hear him.  
He was now in Hell. A dark, silent Hell.  
"Oathbreaker!" The ghost cackled, her frozen-dead face mere millimeters from his own. "Oathbreakers die!"


End file.
